Sew
by Hollywoodx4
Summary: "...The machine's roar was subtle, and off-tempo. There was an irregularity that made him smile. His mother was exactly the way the machine sounded, spontaneous and off beat, but in a good way." Just a little drabble about Blaine's new ability :


It was uncommon for Blaine to get a moment of piece and quiet around school, especially living in Windsor house, where all of the crazies lived. Technically, Blaine was one of them, David and Wes being the main reason he was even in the house in the first place. The members of Windsor didn't care, though. They were blissfully aware of their status around campus. Some of the boys, mainly David and Wes, liked having the status they had. It made them seem fun. After a while, it gave Blaine a headache.

That's why he decided to skip out on the trip his classmates were planning on taking. They had all decided to head over to see some new movie after classes got out, and Blaine freely declined their offer. They had been disappointed, but he had mentioned a term paper for English and they all understood.

But Blaine wasn't doing his term paper. He had finished it quite some time ago, actually. He was ahead of the game as far as school went, but he just needed some time to himself, away from his overzealous friends.

He sat alone in his room, amidst a pile of sweet chaos. He was at his oak desk, and atop it was something most of the guys in Windsor would probably injure themselves with. Surrounding him were scraps of fabric, scattered haphazardly around the room. A long, silky blue fabric hung from a post of his oak bed, and a strand of pink fabric was poking itself out from under his bed.

He had asked Kurt earlier that day if he could borrow his favorite scarf, and Kurt had first looked at him, wincing.

"I'm not sure, it's not really your style. Besides, it has a gaping hole in it. Even I don't wear it around anymore." Blaine promised to be careful, and took the scarf gently from its owner. Now here he was, mending it for Kurt.

He hadn't used the machine in years. It was small, not at all like the one he knew was at his house. But he hadn't gone back to his house in a while, and it may as well be gone anyway. The machine beeped when Blaine brought it to life, and he fumbled nervously over the fabric of the scarf before folding it over and putting it near the machine. Foot pressed lightly on the pedal, he began to sew again. And it felt good, because he knew his father couldn't touch him here. Nothing could happen to him at Dalton, as it had in his own home when he had sewn before.

Kurt heard a familiar noise as he strode down the hall to Blaine's room that day. It was like a distant roar in his mind, yet he had no idea where he had heard it from before. As he rounded the corner, he realized that the noise was coming from a familiar door. The one he threw his Oxford's against, the one he had opened so many times, the one he and Blaine kissed goodnight in front of. He opened the door without knocking, going against one of his pet peeves without even realizing. The noise was hypnotizing. And there, at his desk, was Blaine, mind consumed in front up a sewing machine. He hadn't even heard Kurt enter. His hair wasn't gelled, and it fell loosely above his forehead. His tongue was poking out from the corner of his lips, and his fingers loosely guided material through the machine. Kurt looked down to see what he was doing, and realized with a jolt of panic that his scarf was being run through the machine. His _favorite_ scarf.

"What are you doing?" The sudden noise jolted Blaine out of his revere, and his fingers slipped off of the fabric for only a second.

"Jesus Kurt, you scared me."

"Is that my scarf?" Blaine didn't even look the least bit phased. He finished the seam and pulled the fabric from the machine, cutting the thread from the machine and holding the scarf up to Kurt.

"Well, I knew you hated the hole in it, so I sewed it back up for you. I hope that's ok." Kurt looked from Blaine to the outstretched hand holding his scarf in it, not sure what to do. "Just put it on, it's not going to bite you." He laughed and got up from where he was sitting, stepping behind Kurt and putting the scarf on him. He kissed the top of his head and moved back to his desk, pulling another piece of fabric through the machine. Kurt collapsed onto his bed.

"How can one person be so goddamn perfect?" Blaine just laughed, continuing to work. Kurt closed his eyes and listened to the hum of the machine. It was moving steadily, almost to a perfect rhythm. He was frustrated, not remembering where he had heard the noise before. "Have you sewed at school before?"

"Not really. I used to a bunch at home, but then things happened with my dad, and…I just, didn't want to upset him anymore. I wanted him to be proud of me. Clearly we see how well that's worked out." He scoffed and brought another fabric, a tan one, to the machine, and it all came back to Kurt.

"_Mom!" Five year old Kurt was running around the house, trying to find his mother. She was not in the kitchen, and when he had asked his father he told him to look around. He resorted to yelling and running, in a state of sheer panic. Finally, he heard her soft, buttery voice coming from a room he had not been allowed in a whole lot before. He stood outside of the door, not wanting to intrude on his mother. She had never told him _not _to go into the room, but he had never been formally invited either. "Mom?" He called her name from the other side of the door, and he could hear her laugh a bit from the room. _

"_Kurt, honey, you can come in here. I'm not going to bite you. Well, maybe a little nibble, but only because you're so cute." He opened the door and saw the truth behind the closed door. The walls were lined with fabrics, and she sat in the middle of the room, working at a sewing machine. Kurt had only seen one once before, at his school when he had opted to take a mini home ec. class. But his mother was sitting there like she had been there for years, and Kurt tried to imagine her years before. When did she come in here? When he was home sick and sleeping? When he was at school? She motioned him over, not pausing from her work._

_The machine's roar was subtle, and off-tempo. There was an irregularity that made him smile. His mother was exactly the way the machine sounded, spontaneous and off beat, but in a good way. He was clutching his beloved bear tight to his chest, bright blue eyes shining with unshed tears._

"_Kurt honey what's wrong?"_

"_Toby has a hole in him, he needs to go to the doctors." His mother simply laughed and held out her hand._

"_Can I see Toby? I think I can help him." Kurt handed the bear over to his mother, who began to asses the damage. Sure enough, Toby had a large hole down his side, and stuffing was beginning to come right out. "I think I can fix him, come here I'll show you." She patted the stool next to her and Kurt sat, grabbing a hold of Toby's paw as his mother took out a needle and thread. When he saw the needle, Kurt gasped and held Toby's paw tighter. "Sometimes, when something like this happens to a person, they need to be fixed just like Toby. I had to be fixed like him, do you remember?" Elizabeth had had surgery a few months prior, and the scar could still be seen from where her tumor had been removed. Kurt traced the place hers was on his on stomach, and she nodded. "That's right. But Toby's lucky, because he doesn't have to go to the doctor's like you or me or daddy might have to. I can fix him up right here." She began to mend the bear, her hands moving gently because she did not want to prick herself. When she was done she tied a sturdy knot in the bear and gave him a kiss, releasing him to her son._

"_You take good care of Toby, okay? He's going to need a lot of love after surgery."_

"_Just like you, mommy." She nodded. Her son didn't know that she'd be just like Toby again in a year, or that she'd be gone in three short years. He was consumed in Toby, caring for him as he had cared for his mother._

The roaring of the machine in the room he was in now was not sporadic. It was gentle, moving slowly and delicately to its own rhythm. It was Blaine, always eager but always careful, diligent yet carefree. It was not his mother, but he felt comfort in the noise, and drifted to sleep while his boyfriend worked.


End file.
